THE NIGHTWALK by HARLEQUINADE

I hate this part of town, but it’s where all the upmarket bars are, and therefore full of the kind of women I’m after.

I’d been sitting nursing a beer, watching them walk past, for about twenty minutes, before a pretty blonde came and sat in the stool next to me. She started asking me something about my suit, or my watch, or the weather…it doesn’t matter, we both knew what she was asking.

But I made my excuses and left.

That’s not how I want to do this. That’s not how I can do this.

I find another bar and order another beer. And I see what I want making her way back from the toilets. SNAP. Stylish red hair, a sleek dark gray dress, flat shoes….She goes back to her table and finishes her drink, takes her brown leather jacket and bag and leaves. I follow.

I keep a safe distance for about ten minutes, but then she turns into a driveway takes out her keys and lets herself into the house.

Back to square one, back to another bar.

Again, I spot another: the same profile and outfit – well close enough. She’s arguing with a man who looks like he spends more on his haircut then I pay on rent each month. I can’t hear what they’re arguing about, I don’t care. SNAP. She throws her drink into his face and storms out the bar. A lot of people turn at the commotion to see her march out. No-one sees me follow.

But again, nothing will happen. She hails a taxi and one screeches to a stop almost instantly. They wouldn’t stop for me, and I’m not going to do the whole “follow that cab” routine.

Again, back to another bar, this time saturated with green neon. They don’t even serve beer, so I order a cocktail. And watch.

It doesn’t take long for someone to catch my eye….the immaculate red hair, the perfectly shaped business suit, the flat shoes…is this district just filled with expensive and vain clones?

She orders a drink and sits alone. I order another of their sickly saccharine drinks and watch her. SNAP. I’ll wait for her to finish and follow her out.

She and I are both almost finished when a man comes down and sits at her table, ordering them both another drink.

I’m out of money and he’s not going to buy me one. I give up and go home. Another wasted night… but at least the beat pays well.

At my office I go over the photos I’d taken of them, all beautiful red hair and elegant business dresses and flat shoes: the two survivors so far had given exactly the same description. She’s still out there. Maybe right now in some nearby expensive penthouse tearing apart one of the men from any of the bars I was in tonight.

She’s out there, and I’ll catch her.